


Breathing Exercises

by enjolrazzledazzle



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 10:13:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7570204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enjolrazzledazzle/pseuds/enjolrazzledazzle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Courfeyrac has one of Those Days, Enjolras is not helpful, and Combeferre saves the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathing Exercises

**Author's Note:**

> Be gentle, folks. This is my first published fic (which could turn into a series if I get smashed again) and I wrote it out of love for Courfeyrac and my desire for him to no longer be the comedic relief. Please point out errors because you're lucky I even spell checked this shit honestly. Enjoy!! Oh be warned, the panic attack is pretty detailed so yea, tread with caution.

The moment Courfeyrac woke up, he knew it was going to be one of Those Days. A day where nothing went right. A normal day for Bossuet, maybe. But it was rare that so many things went wrong for Courf. 

To begin with, he stumbled out of bed 30 minutes after his alarm was supposed to go off for work. 

“Shit shit shit fuck motherfucking bitch,” he muttered, scrambling into a sweater and a pair of ripped jeans. He didn't even bother to brush his curly mane of inky hair, just swept it into a small messy bun and hopped as he struggled into his beat up converse. 

As he stepped outside he spewed more profanity as rain began to fall. It was too late to go back and get an umbrella. His manager at the small café he worked for was lenient but at 8 in the morning, a late worker could piss off the customers that kept the place in business. 

He practically sprinted into the bustling café, begging forgiveness from Eponine as he tied on an apron and began to take orders. 

“Look Courf, I understand that you,” Eponine paused to hand someone their coffee “are under a lot of stress right now. But if you're late again I'm gonna beat you up.” 

He gave her an apologetic glance, taking an order and beginning a drink. “I know and I'm  _ really _ sorry. My alarm didn't go off and I was up late studying and - your total is $4.95, sir.” 

Eponine gave him a dark look, poorly concealing her fondness. “Whatever you say pixie boy.”

Courfeyrac’s face twisted into a mischievous smile. “You're just jealous you weren't graced with my beauty and charm.”

The next four hours of his shift passed by slowly and Courfeyrac began to feel the absence of the chemicals that balanced his mood. It had been three days since he ran out of the Lithium he relied heavily upon to function. Normally he wasn't so irresponsible but he was too busy trying to survive university to fill the prescription. Joly would be furious if he knew of this. 

There was a constant buzzing beneath his skin and a pinching sensation between his thick brows.

His mind was spinning, going through the lists of things he still had to do and he failed to hear a man calling out to him angrily. 

“Sir. Excuse me. Barista! Hey faggot!” The violent word broke through his daze and his eyes snapped up, his mouth gaping open. He was frozen and the bustling café had paused along with him, watching the scene play out. 

“I ordered a large  _ soy  _ latté with an extra shot. You would've known that if you were doing your fucking job,” he spat and promptly poured the drink in his hands on the floor, dropping the cup and marching out of the café 

Courf’s eyes were welling up with embarrassment but he let out a watery laugh. 

“Looks like  _ someone  _ woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” he joked, unable to procure a wittier line. It earned him a collective sympathetic chuckle from the crowd and people began to return to their conversations. Courf continued to shakily make drinks avoiding Eponine concerned eyes.

///

He stumbled into Valjean’s class only to an empty lecture hall, a TA sleeping at the front desk. 

Confused, Courfeyrac checked his email to find a message to his one o’clock lecture that class was cancelled and groaned. He had now unnecessarily trekked all the way across campus when he could have been studying or finishing an overdue essay or seven of his assignments he's yet to complete. Life was seriously just handing him plate after plate of steaming shit. 

/// 

When he returned to the small apartment he rented , the door was slightly open. and the lock was smashed. Someone had broken in. As he surveyed the damage, he discovered his TV was gone but nothing else seemed to be out of place. He let out a frustrated sigh. Really, he thought, at least the day couldn't get any worse. 

///

And he was right for a few hours, mostly because he took a well deserved nap. But when he got to the Musain, Grantaire and Enjolras were arguing. Bahorel and Feuilly were wrestling and Joly was muttering paranoid thoughts to himself. Normally all of this would have been endearing and Courfeyrac would have good naturedly teased them. But today was one of Those Days and he wasn't in the mood. 

“Courf! We were wondering when you'd turn up,” Bossuet greeted him loudly and he only gave him a half hearted grin and wave before taking a seat next to Combeferre. 

On any other day Courfeyrac would have grinned cheekily at Combeferre, smacked a kiss onto his beautiful brown skin, and perched himself in his friend’s lap. And desperately thought of more ways to make it clear that his feelings for the other man were  _ not  _ platonic because the only person more oblivious than Enjolras was Combferre. Well, no Marius was more unaware than any of them but he kind of had his own category.

But this was one of Those Days and he was not in the mood to flirt only to be ignored by the object of his affections. So he sat in his own seat gave Combeferre a small smile and closed his eyes as he waited for the meeting to start. 

The room was collectively shaken because This was not normal. Combeferre was about to enquire what happened and Joly was about to ask what illness he was suffering from but Enjolras, oblivious as ever, called them all to attention. 

“Greetings, everyone. I hope you've had a satisfactory Monday. Okay enough pleasantries.” 

Grantaire snorted. “Like a fucking textbook, I swear,” he muttered and Enjolras only ignored him. “Today, I'd like to go over our next proposal to the campus police about raising more awareness of sexual assault and our plans for prevention. Courf, I asked you to bring a proposal for more patrolling. I assume you've brought it?” Enjolras asked. 

And there it was, the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

His friends all turned to look at him and the pace of his breathing quickened along with his pulse. His eyes began to water as everyone looked at him expectantly. God he was stupid. Stupid and irresponsible and a terrible friend. Tears began to fall and a the floodgates opened. 

“I'm s-sorry, I forgot,” he stammered. His hands came up to grip at his curls and he hunched in on himself. “I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry” he was sobbing and he began to rock back and forth, hyperventilating. “So stupid so fucking dumb,” he whispered. 

His chest was tight and his hands were shaking and he was definitely going crazy. 

He stood abruptly, tripping as he ran out of the Musain, tears hot on his cheeks as he struggled to catch his breath to no avail. The panic intensified as he leaned against the brick exterior of the Musain and he slid to sit on the pavement, hugging his knees. He didn't register a presence crouching in front of him as he hyperventilated until he heard Combeferre’s steady voice. 

“Courfeyrac look at me.” 

“I'm dying, I'm dying oh my god ‘Ferre I can't breathe I'm going crazy ‘Ferre.” He knew he was rambling, rocking back and forth, raving like a lunatic but his world was collapsing.

“Courfeyrac, listen to me. Open your eyes. Everything is okay. Please look at me, love.” His voice was soothing and he couldn't help but comply. 

“I want you to breathe with me, ok?” 

Courf nodded, breathing in and out when told. 

“Can you tell me your name?” Combeferre was holding his hands and the world was still collapsing. 

“C-Courfeyrac,” he gasped. 

“Good. Where are we?” 

Courfeyrac had to think a moment as he struggled to catch his breath. “The Musain?”

“Yes. We are outside the Musain on A street. It is 7 o’clock. Can you tell me how old you are?”

“21, b-but I've been told I am w-wise beyond my years,” he attempted to joke as he hiccuped. 

Combeferre was smiling that warm smile of his and if Courfeyrac wasn't dying he would have melted into a puddle. 

“There's my Courf. I want you to take more deep breaths. In and out, in and out. You're ok Courf. It is November 23rd and we’re outside the Musain and you're ok. You are safe. You're safe.” 

Courfeyrac slowly came out of his panicked trance, his breathing returning to normal but his hands still shaky and Combeferre was to his right with his arms wrapped securely around his shoulders. 

And Les Amis were all standing in front of them on the pavement, looking on with frightened and concerned eyes. 

Now Courfeyrac was not one to embarrass easily. Les Amis had seen him in various states of undress. They had seen him fall flat on his face and seen him get turned down more times than he could count. And he was by no means modest. He worked very hard to maintain his physique and if he wanted to show off his body then that was his choice. 

But this was different. To have his friends look on as he fell apart was enough to have him hiding his face in Comberre’s sweater-clad shoulder. Combeferre politely asked them for some privacy and told them that yes he was okay. 

“Courf? They're gone. Love, it's ok. There's nothing to be ashamed of.” Combeferre's voice was soothing but Courf was not ready to brave the harsh world outside of ‘Ferre’s firm, strong shoulder. 

“They all think I'm crazy. You think I'm crazy,” he spat, more tears threatening to fall. 

“I think no such thing. What you just had was a panic attack. A severe one, in reaction to stress, overstimulation, and lack of sleep. And I believe I would not be wrong in assuming you've skipped a few doses of your meds.”

Courfeyrac let out a giggle at that, peeking shyly at his friend. 

“Also, our friends do  _ not  _ think you're crazy. They care for you. They were worried. Are worried. But they love you.  _ I  _ love you,” he murmured. 

Combeferre was  _ so  _ sincere and if Courfeyrac didn't feel as though he'd been run over by a truck, his stomach would’ve been  fluttering. 

“I love you, too Combeferre,” he said squeezed him tight and tried to ignore how much he wanted to say that in a romantic context. 

“Would you like to talk about it?” Combeferre offered but Courf wrinkled his nose at that. 

“Not tonight. Would you - I mean you don't have to but would you mind-” he struggled but Combeferre helped him out. 

“Courfeyrac would you like me to walk you home?”

“Such a gentleman,” Courfeyrac teased and a mischievous smirk returned to his lips. 

“Can you stand?” Combeferre asked loosening his arms and Courfeyrac mourned the loss. 

“Well, let's find out,” Courf muttered and stood. He stumbled a bit, held up by his friend but ultimately his legs worked. 

Combeferre placed an unnecessary arm around his shoulders but he was in no way complaining. 

“I should say goodbye,” he said with a sigh and braced himself as they pushed open the glass door. 

“Courf! Are you okay?”

“We're so worried.”

“What can we do?” 

Bossuet, Feuilly, and Jehan all call out and a few more murmur concerned questions but Courf waves them off. 

“Combeferre here just informed me Santa’s not real, guys. I'm pretty crushed and I took it pretty hard. But I think with time I will recover. And I'm also feeling quite betrayed that you all played along in this ruse. I thought you were my friends. But I suppose all good things must come to end. Oh goodness that rhymed, Jehan you must be so proud!” 

His speech earned a few eyerolls and a few laughs and he felt a little less embarrassed. 

“If you want to talk about it Courf-” Grantaire started. 

“We're all here for you,” Enjolras finished. “And I'm sorry if what I said was-” Enjolras began but Courfeyrac waved him off.

“Trust me, mon amí, it's not your fault. This episode was the product of a severe anxiety disorder and a heavy workload. You are not at fault.” 

He felt Combeferre squeeze his shoulders. 

“Let's get you home,” Combeferre said. 

“Oh, I should-” Grantaire moved to stand but Courfeyrac gave him The Look that said ‘cockblock me and you will be wishing you were dead’ so Grantaire gave him a wink and sat back in his seat like the good friend he was. 

“Farewell, God knows when we shall meet again. I have a faint cold fear that thrills through my veins-” Courfeyrac recited and was met with a collective groan from the room. 

“Get your Romeo and Juliet quoting arse out of here and go to bed you wanker,” Bahorel bellowed and Combeferre retrieved his jacket and led Courfeyrac out of the Musain before he could begin to ramble about the merits of Shakespeare. 

“My place is closer. And you really shouldn't be alone,” Combeferre said casually when the door closed behind them. 

Courfeyrac nodded and giggled to himself. 

“What?” the other man inquired. 

“It's also probably not quite safe at my place.” 

Combeferre's dark brows furrowed. 

“Someone broke in today and stole the TV. And my lock is broken,” he replied, yawning. 

Combeferre gave a him a sympathetic grimace as they walked and bumped their shoulders together. 

“Well we can go back to mine and I'll make you tea and watch a movie or two. Or maybe I can read you some Much Ado About Nothing. That always makes you feel better.”

Courfeyrac considered this. It was true, the rhythm of the bard’s comedy never failed to make him feel safe. And he only ever liked tea when Combeferre made it. But he wasn't sure he wanted to give the day more chances to fuck with him. 

“Look, is it alright if I just… sleep? I mean I'm just really tired. I'd forgotten how much those attacks take out of me,” Courfeyrac admitted, looking at his shoes. 

“Of course that's alright. But would you mind telling me more?” Combeferre requested and Courf smiled at that. The man never gave up an opportunity to learn. 

“Well this might just be me, but my attacks are never unprompted. There's always a reason. And because I have severe anxiety, my brain perceives this as a threat. So when I'm overwhelmed, my brain goes into fight or flight. But it's almost like it… short circuits? Sorry this is weird to explain to normal people,” he said sheepishly. 

“No, go on. I'm not judging you.” 

Courf nodded and continued. “So there's no way to fight this perceived threat and I can't run away from it and my brain is like ’SYSTEM OVERLOAD HELP’ and I begin to freak out and hyperventilate. As you saw. And my mind is running in circles and I can't breathe and it basically feels like I'm dying. And it's not like I hear- voices per se. But it's like my brain - and seriously this is messed up only my therapist knows this - my brain is telling me  _ kill yourself kill yourself _ over and over again.” 

Combeferre raised his eyebrows at this but remained silent. 

“So when I come down from an episode, it's like my body has just fought an invisible attacker named Anxiety Man who was choking me and sitting on my chest and telling me to kill myself. It's really draining. I haven't had one in years thanks to my mood stabilizers and antidepressants. But I've been so busy that I didn't have the time and just.” Courfeyrac paused as he realized Combeferre had stopped. He walked back to the man, puzzled as to why he'd stopped. 

“Courf, come here,” he ordered, his voice firm and placed his hands on the shorter man’s shoulders. 

“Courfeyrac, I need you to know that I care for you. I need you to know that you are not your anxiety and that if you killed yourself-” his voice broke uncharacteristically. “If you _ ever  _ killed yourself, the sun and the moon and the mountains would be okay. But I would never be the same. You bring light anywhere you go. Your appalling jokes and impish grin are the highlight of my day. I would be so lost in this world if I didn't have you to remind me why life is beautiful. It is physically painful to imagine a world without you as my friend. Courfeyrac, I love you. Don't be afraid to ask for what you need. Please, take better care of yourself. You are far too important.” 

By the end of Combeferre's impromptu speech, Courfeyrac was crying again and Combeferre wasn't far behind. They simultaneously reached for each other, Courfeyrac’s head coming to rest on the taller man’s chest and his arms wrapping around his waist. 

“Who knew you were such a sap, Ferre,” Courf joked and he could feel a laugh vibrating through Combeferre's chest. He felt incredibly safe. 

“Alright let's get you to bed, you menace,” Ferre said and withdrew from the embrace. 

“What do you take me for? A hussy?” Courfeyrac huffed in his best 1800’s southern accent. 

“Yes,” Combeferre answered solemnly. 

“Carry me?”

“No.”

“Please.”

“One block.” 

“Two blocks.” 

“You're insufferable, you know that?” Combeferre sighed as he picked the shorter man up bridal style. 

“I do, in fact. I came out of the womb and made a joke about it being the last time I'd be that close to a vagina and the doctor said exactly those words. Along with ‘it's a boy!’ The rest, dear Ferre, is history,” he proclaimed, his arms wrapped firmly around Combeferre's neck. 

It earned him an eye roll and a hint of a smile and that was good enough. He settled his head right where Combeferre's neck met his shoulder and inhaled the strong scent of that cologne he loved and promptly passed out. 

“Courf,” someone whispered in his ear. “We're here. And I have to set you down in order to open the door.” 

And because he was a stubborn shit, Courfeyrac only protested with a nuzzle and a tiny ‘no’. This prompted a familiar sigh of, “I suppose I'll have to be creative.” 

The next time he drifted to consciousness, he was settled on Combeferre's glorious, large bed as someone removed his shoes. 

“Not a child,” he muttered, shifting on to his side. 

“Funny. I was under the impression you were.”

Courf giggled sleepily and fumbled to remove his shirt but became tangled in the thing, prompting Combeferre to assist. 

Then came his jeans which really, were they worth it? Yes, he decided, because despite being unbearably tight, his ass looked astronomically good. 

“Ha. Ass-tronomically good,” he muttered and Combeferre didn't even bother to ask. 

When he was finally settled under the comforter and Combeferre was rising to leave, Courfeyrac had a sudden surge of confidence. 

“Remember how you told me not to be afraid to ask for what I need?”

“I meant that,” the other man replied, sitting down again. 

“Well right now. I need to be severely cuddled,” he giggled. 

“I believe that can be arranged.” 

A brief negotiation of limbs had Comberre's body cradling Courfeyrac's from behind, tracing lazy patterns on his warm skin. Neither fell asleep, too happy to be holding each other to let the moment end. 

Combeferre sighed into his hair and his confidence came back with a vengeance. Courfeyrac turned to face him, bracing himself for his impending doom. 

“‘Ferre?” 

The other man’s eyes opened.

“It's kind of unfair to you. This whole situation. Because we have different motivations. Like. This is not as easy as I thought. What I mean is that. I enjoy your… company? And I assume you enjoy mine. But I like you. Love you. In a way that is really really not platonic. Like give me map and I'll show you how far from platonic these feelings are. So this is me. Telling you that I want a relationship. And if this screws up our friendship - hey! Why are you smiling? Now you're giggling! This is not normal, ‘Ferre! I have never once witnessed a giggle come from those beautiful lips-”

He was cut off by said lips being pressed to his. It thoroughly shocked him.

What didn't surprise him was Combeferre's raw passion. Courfeyrac had imagined this in detail. Courfeyrac had a _fantastic_ imagination. But nothing could compare to this. The way he threaded his fingers through his hair. The way he rolled on top to get better access. The way his tongue was searching Courf’s mouth and how his fingers pressed into his sides as if cataloging every inch of skin. 

Combeferre had an impeccable memory. 

Everything was going great. Combeferre’s lips made their way down Courfeyrac's neck with open mouthed kisses and back up again and seriously who taught this boy how to kiss? 

Everything was going splendidly until Courfeyrac broke away to yawn and really he knew that he served as comic relief in most things but hot makeout sessions were not the time nor the place to be yawning. 

“As much as I would like to carry on, my love, I think you're too drained for this,” Combeferre said, pressing soft kisses to Courfeyrac's bare shoulders. 

“I would say that I should have panic attacks more often but you'd only scold me. And not the way I want you to either,” Courfeyrac murmured, settling on Combeferre's chest. 

“I'm ignoring the first part because that's awful and the second because that is not a discussion for tonight,” he responded and Courfeyrac would have given a teasing reply but those fingers carding through his hair felt  _ so _ good and it was all he could do to push into the touch like a cat. 

People told him he was like a yapping dog or perhaps a mischievous forest spirit but secretly, Courfeyrac was a cat and adored being scratched behind his ears (which were admittedly pointy). 

He told Combeferre all this and earned an amused snort. 

He purred. 


End file.
